


Strange and Wondrous and Terrible

by jillyfae



Series: By Stone and Shield [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Culture Shock, Dwarves, Epilogue, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food Kink, Friendship, Gen, Grey Wardens, Humor, King Alistair, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition, The Calling, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surface-shock, romance, friendship, tragedy... the Warden's life is never boring.</p>
<p>Interstitials, prompt-fills, AU bits, etc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alistair and … ice cream… ♥" prompted by [chenria](http://chenria.tumblr.com/)

"Oooh, I haven't seen this in years!" Leliana's light voice rose above the general low murmur of the marketplace. Alistair turned to find what had caused the extra lilt in her voice, but could only see her leaning in to talk to an orlesian merchant surrounded by what looked liked small churns in tubs of ice. Lots of ice, so much ice it was still mostly solid despite the heat bearing down on them all.

Not that ice didn't sound lovely, considering the weight of his mail on his shoulders and the itchy feelng across the bridge of his nose that generally meant it was about to start peeling again any day now. But ice was certainly something Leliana had seen not that long ago, so that obviously wasn't the cause of her excitement.

He felt a sharp jab against his side, and tilted his head to see Ingva glaring at him, her view blocked by the 'stupid humans' surrounding her so she couldn't see what had caught his attention. He managed to swallow before he asked if she'd like him to pick her up, as he was pretty sure if he wrapped his arms around her he'd do something incredibly stupid and she'd slap him.

Or stab him. She always had an extra dagger somewhere.

He pretended he didn't rather desperately want to strip her of her armor and find out where she hid them all. Among other things. _I am a bad, bad man_.

Instead he just tilted his head toward Leliana, and when Ingva, _no, Brosca, call her Brosca, easier to remember she's not here for me to ogle_ , nodded, proceeded to clear a path through the crowd.

It was only a short path to Leliana, who turned around and grinned and practically rubbed her hands together. "You must give this a try. It's delightful."

"For how much?" Ingva's eyebrows lifted halfway to her hair, and Alistair swallowed a chuckle behind his hand.

"Trust me."

Ingva snorted and rolled her eyes and nodded all at once, and Alistair couldn't help grinning in appreciation at the expression. Until he saw Leliana's eyes flash, an almost wicked tilt to her smile that meant she knew exactly what he was thinking. "And would you like to try one too, Alistair _dear_?"

Alistair coughed and shook his head and focused on Leliana haggling with the merchant rather than think about what he was thinking. One of these days his thoughts were going to get him in _so much trouble_.

"Now, you have to eat it quickly, or it melts, but not too quickly, or it makes your head hurt from the cold."

_Cold?_

Ingva's head tilted as she eyed the strange round whitish-pinkish lump in front of her, settled in some sort of pointy shell that looked rather hard and crunchy. _Like an overdone pie crust? Really thin cookies?_

"Go on." Leliana was grinning as she grabbed another one from the vendor. "You have to lick it. And then you eat the cone. Be careful, sometimes the bottom doesn't seal and it drips out the point."

Alistair was really trying to behave, but the moment he heard 'lick', and then saw the very tip of Ingva's tongue between her lips, he knew he was lost. The whatever it was made a pale smear across her tongue, visible for just a moment before she closed her mouth. Her eyes closed and her face eased and she _hummed_.

But it wasn't just a normal hum, it was low and throaty and soft and he suddenly wished he'd asked for a serving himself so he had something to do besides stare.

"Ancestors," her voice was a very soft sigh, and her eyes opened up again and she turned her head and grinned at him. "Oh, you have to try this Alistair, you do."

And then he couldn't really help imagining the sound she'd make if her treat did start to leak, and she had to put the point in her mouth, had to suck as the melting whatever-it-was dripped down her throat...

"uhisdfav?" Leliana giggled softly, as Alistair swallowed and shook his head. "I mean, uh, that's fine, I'm fine, will you excuse me please? Wouldn't want Scabbler to get lo-, uh, try and bring home another foundling, right? Right."

He could feel his skin burning as he turned and fled, and it certainly wasn't from the heat.

_Maker, I'm an idiot._

 


	2. The Surface is Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of dwarf-commoner everything-shock upon reaching the Korcari Wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [leah](http://forgefaerie.tumblr.com) on tumblr

"What's that?" Ingva swallowed, trying to keep her voice down so as not to alert the, the... _thing_ at the other end of the clearing.

"Um." Alistair coughed softly behind her, and she turned to glare. Not that it was a very good glare. If anyone else had that smothered laughter sound in their voice when talking to her she'd be all set to smack them, but his eyes were soft even as his lips twitched, and he just such a bloody nice giant she was really very bad at being mad at him. "You walked right into the mabari pen to muzzle a strange dog almost as tall as you are, but you're worried about a deer?"

"He had very nice eyes, I'll have you know, and even I've heard of War Dogs." She suppressed the urge to pout. "What's a _deeer_?"

He coughed, again, and she seriously started reconsidering the hitting. Or possibly stabbing. She'd only stab him a little. Maybe in his arm. There had to be some healers back at camp; she'd just tell Commander Duncan it was an _'accident'._

"It's just a regular boring animal. They eat leaves. People hunt them. Venison's pretty tasty, actually."

Ingva narrowed her eyes, not completely sure if he was serious. It looked kinda skinny for eating. Then again, 'if I can chew it, it's food', was a pretty common duster motto. "Is it dangerous?"

"No." He snickered aloud that time, not even trying to hide it with a cough. "What do you think it's going to do to you, poke at you with its soft little nose?"

"No, I think it's could trample me with those hard pointy things it's got instead of feet. What is wrong with it's _legs_?"

"Hooves. They're called hooves. Have you never seen a horse?"

"Oh, yeah, we had lovely stables in Dust Town, right next to our manor, cause we had plenty of grass to feed them with?"

He actually blushed. Stone, that was... _not adorable. Not delightful. Kinda funny?_

"Oh. Right, sorry." There was the slightest hint of shrugged shoulders under his splintmail. "Grew up in the stables myself. Horses are... nice, really."

"Are they good eating too?"

"WHAT? Maker, no, you don't eat!" His eyes were wide as he stared at her, hands spread as if to push the words further away. "Don't ever say, no. Just no. No eating horses."

"Hmm." She shrugged, glancing back to see that the _deer_ that had started the whole conversation had bolted at some point, the clearing empty in the gloaming. She liked twilight. It was much more normal than all that bright sunlight. "Seems a waste. Everything should be for eating. Well, maybe not lichen. But if you say so."

"How about we stick to rabbit?" Alistair's voice was a little tight, but he had that bit of a smile again when she looked up at his face. "We all like rabbit."


	3. AU: Swapping Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very first time I played DAO my Brosca and Alistair wandered off to be Wardens together very happily, leaving all that political nonsense to everyone else. So here's a what-if Ingva and Alistair had managed that, and wandered their way through Kirkwall later.

One didn't meet many strange dwarves in Kirkwall.  Not that their weren't lots of exceedingly strange (and usually stupid) dwarves in the Guild and Carta, of course, but Varric knew them all.  This one was different.

_And exceedingly female.  That's a sight we haven't gotten to enjoy in a nice long while, now isn't it, Bianca, a pretty new dwarva?_

Said female was also in familiar looking blue gear, with a rather large blonde sort of human right behind her, and there weren't that many dwarves wearing that particular livery, and fewer men with disturbing visual similarities to the portraits of Maric and Cailan which trickled their way throughout the Free Marches while people gossiped about all those Fereldan refugees...

Maric's bastard giving up his throne to go Grey-Warden-ing about with the Hero of Ferelden was the sort of thing people wrote sappy songs and bad poetry about.  Not many people knew about the taint, after all, or Grey Warden vows to forego political alliances; the combination of which made it unlikely he'd settle well into kingship, or give anyone an heir.  Popular opinion was convinced he must have done it for  _love._

Varric hadn't ever really bought that story, but felt obliged to admit the likelihood of its truth, now, watching the way they stood, close together, his eyes k eeping an eye on the crowd while she smiled rather nastily at the Coterie elf who'd slithered up to say hello.

Brosca's tendency to hit people who annoyed her was the sort of thing that got drinking songs written about it.  Each dagger or punch?  Take a shot.  Unfortunately for Varric's entertainment quotient, however, the sneaky little elf was smarter than she looked, and escaped unscathed.

Still.

He was quite sure he could do better than just  _escaping._

No harm in saying hello.

Maybe even buying them a round?

 _But definitely no flirting.  Not sure which one of them that would annoy more, but a hit from either one would definitely_ hurt.

***

He had a hangover.  That didn't happen very often.

He didn't attempt to go drink for drink with a Duster very often though.  Brosca had a very hard head.

Alistair had been drinking watered wine in comparison to their almost dwarven-malt something-or-other -Corff-had-probably-found-under-a-rock, so he'd been much more clear-headed.  Once Varric and Brosca had started comparing drinks and deals and ways to get around the Carta, they'd both stopped paying attention to how often they were refilling their drinks.

And now his head was pounding and his eyes were squinting and he was pretty sure he had nug guts rotting on his tongue, judging from the nasty taste and the furry feeling.

 _I hope Brosca feels worse._  He took some comfort in the fact that she apparently didn't usually get quite that plastered either, judging from Alistair's failed attempt not to laugh when he'd scooped her up to carry her to their room.

_I got completely wasted with the Hero of Ferelden.  And saw her snuggle up into the bastard Theirin's shoulders.  That's worth more than a few good tales._

_Whenever I can see straight enough to hold a quill again, that is._


	4. AU: End-Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is [janie's](http://janiemcpants.tumblr.com) fault. I'm sorry

It hadn’t worked.

She’d seen Riordan fall from the Dragon.

She’d watched as Loghain was trampled by on ogre.

Alistair was safe at the gates, for now, rallying the troops and guarding their backs and being King, as he’d never wanted to be, but he didn’t know, he hadn’t been willing to listen to Riordan, he was going to send soldiers and mages and elves against the Archdemon and it was  _never going to die._

And all of Ferelden was going to fall, and who knew how much of Orlais before someone finally took the Blight seriously, and once the only viable entrance to Orzammar was stuck in the middle of dead Blighted land, they’d lose what little trade they had left, and  _Rica and Endrin…_

She could feel the blood between her fingers, pouring onto the stones beneath her, and she wasn’t going to be able to stand up, not again, she wasn’t going to make it to the roof,  _and no one else could kill it._

She should have known this was how it would end.  She should have known that she wasn’t good enough to stop it,  _never good enough,_  once a duster, always doomed to die in dust.

Her fingers were going numb at last, from loss of blood, and she closed her eyes with one last sigh.

At least it didn’t hurt anymore.


	5. Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet night, a first camp together in almost ten years. 
> 
> ["the stars or space" for twistedsinew](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/142020413348); takes place shortly after [On That You Can Rely](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088710).

Ingva rolled her shoulders, but it didn’t help at all with the bit of bark that was making the middle of her back itch, even through her blouse. 

She sniffed hard, eyes burning as she inhaled. It had been a long time since she’d had to use a log as a backrest. Long time since she’d camped rough, longer still since she’d sat anywhere by herself. Scabbler might have grunted at the indignity of it, but he’d always stayed still and warm against her. 

Possibly drooled on her leg, too, if she was leaning sideways against him so he could attempt to stick his head in her lap. 

Could curl into a surprisingly small ball for how giant a dog he … _was._

She swallowed, and looked up, up past the sparks of the fire, the shadows of the trees, up as far as she could. She sighed past the twist in her chest, past the clench of something that wasn’t quite fear low in her gut, the sensation familiar now, after all these years, faded even, since her first look at a night sky on the Surface, but never quite _gone._

_Once a Duster, always a Duster._

Sort of. 

“Andraste’s damnable …” muttered alongside an equally familiar _clunk_ broke through the dark and the quiet, and she coughed something that was almost a laugh. 

She glanced at Alistair, who was glaring at the fire and blowing on presumably scorched fingertips. “Ten years as King didn’t help your cooking skills _at all,_ did they?” 

“And what’s your excuse for letting me try anyways?” He grinned at her, firelight tracing the shift of his jaw and eyebrows, and she had to swallow something hot and thick caught somewhere in her throat before her eyes started to burn again. _Ten years …_

“Apparently I never learn my lessons.” Her voice cracked somewhere in the middle, her joke falling flat as she closed her eyes, hoping she’d managed it before she gave too much away. 

Knowing she’d failed as she felt one warm wet trail of an escaped tear down the side of her nose, as she heard the quiet shift of his footsteps as he came closer, felt the warmth of him as he settled on the ground beside her. 

“C’mere then,” his voice was barely a whisper as she felt the nudge of his hand behind her shoulder. 

She blinked at him, slow and damp, until she could make out a small smile aimed at her. 

“I, unlike _some people,”_ he announced, looking down his nose at her, that smile widening just a little, “remembered to keep on my gambeson.” He leaned back against the same log that had been giving her such trouble, and patted the ground in front of him. 

Her gut clenched tighter, memory versus an uncertain future, and it took a moment before she could let out a sigh, and shift her weight over to settle between his legs, and lean back against his chest, her chin lifted to stare up again, at a scattering of lights against the dark. 

He was a little thicker than he used to be, a little softer beneath the quilting under her head, and he didn’t wrap his arms around her the way he used to, and it felt perilously like the same vertigo she’d gotten from the first morning sky she ever saw, this uneven swing of past and present shifting in her thoughts. 

“Terrible strange, isn’t it?” Alistair’s voice was barely louder than the settling of the fire, the low crackle and rustle of the woods around them. “Feels like yesterday, and at least an Age ago, and I keep listening for Zevran’s laughter, and reaching out to pet …” His voice trailed off. 

Ingva felt something between her shoulders ease, the ache in her chest fade. “Exactly.” 

“And here we are, still staring at the stars.” 

“You’re a better pillow for that than you used to be.” She nudged backwards with her elbow, a gentle push against his stomach. 

“Ow.” She could hear the grin in his voice, as his arms wrapped around her and squeezed, just a little. “Pretty sure we’re all a bit softer, aren’t we?” 

“’Cept for Anora.” 

She felt his chest lift beneath her, a low rumbling chuckle against her back. “She did just get finer over the years, didn’t she?” 

“Like wine.” 

“Oh, that makes her sound too Orlesian, that’s terrible.” He _tsked_ somewhere above her head, and Ingva giggled. “Laugh now, she’s not here to wreak her revenge upon you.” 

“Nah. I’d just start getting cold tea and stale biscuits and my boots would disappear when the servants took them for cleaning ... she’s much more subtle than _wreaking_.” 

“Ah, I’ll miss her.” Alistair sighed softly. 

“Me too.” 

“But not the way my quills always started cracking shortly after she got annoyed with me.” 

Ingva laughed. “I never could figure out how she did that one. Mine always seemed fine, right until they got ink everywhere.” 

“You too?” Alistair asked, sounding oddly delighted. “And then she’d appear, standing right behind you with clean copies of _everything,_ with that one raised eyebrow.” 

“Terrifyingly efficient, your wife.” 

“She is, isn’t she?” His voice trailed off again, and Ingva listened to the sound of his breath above her, imagined it was almost quiet enough to hear his heartbeat too. “She’ll do just fine without us, won’t she. Much better than we probably would have done without her.” 

“I don’t know about that.” Ingva shrugged, and his arms shifted around her with the movement. “She’d gotten so busy looking and plotting and planning she’d rather forgotten that the people she was looking out for were _people,_ rather than chess pieces. I think we did her quite a bit of good, too.” 

“Not that she’d admit it.” 

“Never!” 

He laughed again, more movement beneath her than sound, and her back was warm against him, his arms warm around her, the fire in front, and she closed her eyes and wondered how she’d managed to find her way back to something that felt so much like home. 


End file.
